


Up All Night

by itainthardtryin



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itainthardtryin/pseuds/itainthardtryin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt on Tumblr: AU Clexa. Clarke moves to a new city and for the first two weeks, she is convinced that her next door neighbor is a teeny bopper because they obsessively listen and sing along to One Direction. When she finally sees a hot hardcore punk looking chick (Lexa), she is perplexed to no end. Bonus points if Harry's her favorite.  </p><p>Alternatively, Clarke works nights. Clarke also has new neighbors. And her neighbor likes listening to One Direction at 7am.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up All Night

Clarke works nights. She’s taken a job in a bar to help pay her way through college and she loves it. She loves meeting new people, she loves working in a place with decent music and she loves the tips. Most days she doesn’t see the morning, unless she has a lecture, but even then it’s debatable whether she’ll actually be awake enough to go.

Clarke sleeps until at least midday, that’s just the way things are in her life and nothing and no-one has ever stopped her. Until a month ago, when she got new neighbours. And one of them loves One Direction. And even worse, they love blasting One Direction songs loud enough to wake Clarke up at seven a.m. before they leave for school.

The first few times, Clarke didn’t mind it. She shrugged it off. But after five straight days of it, after being woken three hours after she got to sleep, it started to bother her. It’s been four weeks now, and Clarke can’t take it anymore. She never gets the chance to speak her mind though, as she’s always out when her neighbours are in, and despite being woken up, there is no way she’s getting out of bed to shout at some kid for playing music.

Despite never actually meeting her neighbours, Clarke decides to do something about it. Before she heads out to classes, she writes a note and places it under their door.

_Hi,_

_I live next door and work nights. I’d appreciate it if you could tell your kids to keep the music down in the mornings as it’s been waking me up._

_Thanks, Clarke_

\---

 

She completely forgets about it until she gets home, and there’s a note waiting for her in reply.

_Clarke,_

_I live here alone, and I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep. I’ll use headphones in future._

_Lexa._

The note raises more questions than it answers. How old is Lexa? Has Clarke got this completely wrong? It’s almost four thirty in the morning, but Clarke sets her alarm for seven. She’s determined to find out who this girl is and what her deal is.

 

\---

 

She wakes up five minutes before her alarm goes off. Turns out that your body sort of gets into a routine of waking up at a certain time, and even without the music to pull her from her sleep, Clarke ends up groaning as she realises it’s only six fifty-five.

It takes a moment to remember why she decided it would be a good idea to get up at this time of day. When she does, she reluctantly drags herself from her bed, pulls on some sweats and a tank top, and throws her hair up in a messy bun.

Clarke can hear movement next door, but no music as promised. She thinks she can vaguely hear the sound of quiet singing, but nothing compared to the noise she’s used to. Seems her note has done the trick.

Still, she wants to introduce herself in person, not just on paper. So she ventures out of the apartment, and knocks on Lexa’s door. She waits for a minute, maybe more, but there’s no answer. Then Clarke remembers the headphones. She knows she’s probably going to wake up the block by doing this, but she bangs hard on the door, loud enough for anyone to hear - even a pop loving teenager who’s currently jamming out to One Direction.

As expected, she hears the lock on the door click and  few seconds later she lays eyes on Lexa for the first time.

And she isn’t what Clarke expected at all.

Instead of being a scrawny teenager, Lexa must be at least twenty years old. Toned, tanned. Dressed from head to toe in black, eyeliner drawn thick. Her hair is dark, but has strands of blue and pink running through it. She has a pair of Beats by Dre round her neck, and a pair of Converse on her feet.

Clarke isn’t even sure she has the right apartment. “Um, Lexa?”

“You know it’s seven a.m., right?”

Clarke still cannot wrap her head around the fact that this woman standing in front of her is the same person who’s been playing that music for the past month. Then, she realises she can still hear the faint chorus of Live While We’re Young coming from her headphones. It just doesn’t match up at all. “Yeah, I’m Clarke. From next door.”

“Ah, the note writer. Sorry for keeping you up.”

“It’s fine I just… I wanted to introduce myself. In person. Properly.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Clarke.”

No matter how much evidence there is in front of her she just cannot wrap her head around this. “You really like One Direction, huh?”

Lexa blushes slightly. “Like would be putting it mildly. Come in,” she says. “We’ll wake the neighbours.” Clarke steps inside and as soon as she does she finds a lifesize cardboard cutout of Harry Styles in the corner. Lexa notices her looking at it. “He’s my favourite,” she tells her, offering no explanation.

“I guess if I had to choose mine would be Niall,” Clarke admits, and she gains a smile from Lexa. Clarke knows how hard it can be to be judged for your passions. She’s been into art since she was a child, and she knows that talking about Monet on the playground is no way to win friends. She’s sure Lexa's had similar experiences. She doesn’t particularly pay attention to or like One Direction, but she knows enough to hold a conversation.

“He's pretty cool, too,” Lexa replies.  “I hope you don’t mind, but I kind of have to keep getting ready. I’m on a tight schedule,” she tells Clarke, making her way into her bedroom to complete her make-up. Clarke watches as she lifts black lipstick and applies it. This girl is something else.

“Do you work?” Clarke asks.

“College.”

“And you actually go to classes?!” Clarke exclaims.

“Of course I go to classes. That’s what you pay for.” Clarke thinks about the job in the bar she had to take to afford her tuition. Tuition that she only uses sixty percent of the time. Lexa has a point. “What about you? Night shifts?”

“I work in a bar,” she tells her. “I’m in college, too.”

“Seems like we’re not too different then.” Lexa smiles at her. “Do you ever have morning classes?”

“Twice a week,” Clarke says. “But I never go.”

Lexa looks at herself in the mirror, fixing her braid, making sure it is sitting perfectly. “Maybe we could have breakfast sometime before class. It might work as an incentive.”

Clarke wonders if Lexa has anyone in the city to spend time with. She wonders where her family is, where she’s come from. If she has friends. A boyfriend. Girlfriend. Anyone.

“Have you eaten already?” Clarke asks.

“I usually grab something in Starbucks on the way,” Lexa explains.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” Clarke is acutely aware of the fact that she has no make-up on, her hair is a mess and she’s in the most casual clothes she owns. But she reckons not everyone is as made up as Lexa is at this time of the day.

“Not at all.”

“This will be the first time I’ve had breakfast in about a year.”

“You don’t have breakfast?” Lexa exclaims. “Clarke, everyone needs good meal to start their day.”

“I know. And I do. But when I have it, it’s usually called lunch.”

Lexa smiles. “Well, then aren’t you lucky I’m here to show you what breakfast can, and is supposed, to be like.”

“It’s seven thirty and I only got into bed after four. I don’t know how any of this is lucky,” Clarke teases.

“You were the one who got up to bang my door down at the break of dawn. You only have yourself to blame,” Lexa reminds her. “But I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.”

 


End file.
